Cycles
by Guilty Bird
Summary: [One-shot] A brief overview of how Setsuna became who he is at the very beginning of the show.


**A/N: I first published this in 2008, but then deleted it a while ago because I was a little embarrassed of its grandiose overtones. But I'm putting it back up now with a few tiny edits.**

* * *

**Part 1: Conclusion**

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_This is a holy war._

_You shall offer yourself to the almighty God._

_To carry out God's will, infidels must give way._

Those are the three phrases that continuously run through my head. As I slowly pad my way through the empty streets, my footsteps resound loudly.

_This is a holy war._

_You shall offer yourself to the almighty God._

_To carry out God's will, infidels must give way._

This is my initiation.

_This is a holy war._

_You shall offer yourself to the almighty God._

_To carry out God's will, infidels must give way._

This gun in my hand? This is God's will. The metal is rusty with use, and is an old model. But it is cold to the touch, and I know that my loyalty to God lies with it. The holy man says that the hand of God may appear cold and ruthless, but that is because we humans are limited in our ability to understand. He says that we must follow God.

_This is a holy war._

_You shall offer yourself to the almighty God._

_To carry out God's will, infidels must give way._

"Soran!" The woman calls from within the small adobe. "Why are you coming home so late tonight?"

"Let him be," the man chuckles. "He brings honor to us all."

"He is but a child of eight," the woman insists in a quieter voice, and then calls out once more. "Soran, what are you doing? Come in, it's cold."

What I am about to do, this is God's will.

_This is a holy war._

_You shall offer yourself to the almighty God._

_To carry out God's will, infidels must give way._

The door creaks open. I squeeze my finger against the trigger five times in succession. The man and woman are thrown against the baked clay walls, and blood slowly spreads across their chests. The man is now dead, but the woman still hangs on.

"Why…why Soran…?" she asks in a pleading voice, eyes alive with fear. But I shoot her again, and when I turn my back on her I hear her fall with a splash into a puddle of her own blood. I walk out of the house that I know so well, yet is so strange to me now. And around me, I can hear similar gunshots echoing through the village.

_This is a holy war._

_You shall offer yourself to the almighty God._

_To carry out God's will, infidels must give way._

As I join my fellow jihadists, I do not sense any joy among them. One of them has been splashed with the blood from the sacrifices, but he does not make any move to wash it away. Instead, there is a emptiness within his eyes.

We all walk towards the holy man who has enlightened us. He stands tall in the halo of the rising sun, and sanctity radiates from his form. He has chosen to pass this divinity on to us.

"Good job," The man of God says. "Now you may participate in this holy war and become jihadists recognized by God himself."

_To carry out God's will, infidels must give way._

Does God hear our cry? This is our commitment, this is our fierce love.

This is true devotion.

* * *

**Part 2: Core**

* * *

_This is a holy war._

_You shall offer yourself to the almighty God._

_To carry out God's will, infidels must give way._

I have heard these words for what seems like a century now. Over and over, the same words are spewed by the people surrounding me. But even as they say it, I can see it in their eyes. They do not know who God is. Do I know? My initial passion for God has ebbed away with every infidel I have killed. That being we follow, God—his outline seems to blur with every day that passes.

The others, they express pleasure at the idea of cleansing the land. But I feel no joy in what we, the KPSA, do. On the other hand, I do not feel guilt either; it is me or them. There is no one else I would risk my life for now, for I have failed to protect my loved ones from myself. But this is what they call a holy war, and what must be done will be done.

"Soran!" A boy calls for me, waving me over. I get up from this cot that I have called my own for the past year, and pick up my rifle. "Hurry up!"

"I'm coming, Omar." I say. Even after a rough year of toil and hard labor, my bronze-colored arms look small and pathetic besides the weapon.

These weapons helps us carry out the desire of God. We protect our chosen land, the Kingdom of Krugis, from the infidels who desire to annihilate it. If innocents die, they die as men who sacrificed themselves for God.

Such as my parents.

_This is a holy war._

_You shall offer yourself to the almighty God._

_To carry out God's will, infidels must give way._

"Today," the boy says, "Today is our special day."

"Special?"

"We are joining the side of God," he says as he opens his padded jacket. Inside, I see several explosives.

"A suicide bombing?" I say, my voice upping a notch against my will.

"Yes," he says. "Today we have been chosen for this honor." He hands me a heavy jacket he had also been holding. I take it, but I do not open it.

"I…you, you're going?"

"Of course I am," he says to me indignantly. "I'm going to do my job as God's proxy."

"You're going to die!" I say, and he promptly grabs my collar far more ferociously than he has ever done so before.

"What?" he say, his eyes burning with derision towards me. "You scared to die? The way you act is an insult to God!"

But he does not give me the jacket, and he storms out alone. I take my rifle, and I follow him. Step after step after step, I slink after him.

_This is a holy war._

_You shall offer yourself to the almighty God._

_To carry out God's will, infidels must give way._

Am I ready to die? For God?

There is no reason why I shouldn't, when I have so readily taken the lives of others as sacrifices. Is it my turn to be the sacrifice?

I have so many questions for God—but he does not answer me. He has never answered me.

_This is a holy war._

_You shall offer yourself to the almighty God._

_To carry out God's will, infidels must give way._

I watch Omar make his way to a small market square. It is afternoon now, when the sun is high and when there is the most bustling.

When he dies and it explodes, I see a small child have his head torn off, and an old woman's arms splintered beyond recognition. But besides that, there are no casualties. A few moments later, activity resumes, and the bodies are left behind to be cleared away later in the discreetness of the evening. I can already see the flies gathering around.

_This is a holy war._

_You shall offer yourself to the almighty God._

_To carry out God's will, infidels must give way._

"He lived and died for God," our leader says. We are all gathered at the base in honor of Omar's sacrifice. "His soul should now be invited to join God."

It is dingy here, and the only light comes from holes in the ceiling. Only one year ago, I considered this light to be the presence of God within our dwelling. But now, I see it for what it is: it is the daylight wandering its way in while it is lost. But one day, it will find its way home.

And that is true war.

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**Part 3: Creation**

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Everything is orange and red, stained by the sun and by the Azadistan mobile suits. A recording plays over and over in the background:

_This is a holy war._

_You shall offer yourself to the almighty God._

_To carry out God's will, infidels must give way._

There is no meaning behind these words. After hundreds of sacrifices, I have seen nothing change for the better. It is not because we are terrible jihadists. It is because I was wrong, that Ali Al-Saachez was wrong, that KPSA was wrong. We are not men of God.

God is defined most basically as a being who created us and loves us. But even as his followers preach this, injustice still occurs, murder still occurs, and sadness still occurs.

However, my revelation has not made a single difference. I still kill people every day, for I must live. Actually, if there is a difference, it is that our enemies have evolved from powerless human beings to titanic beings that can destroy a building with a single shot. Our resistance has dwindled down, and now only a handful of us remain.

Rotting bodies lie in gore between bullet-riddled walls. The crushing sound of metal screeching through rock keens in the air. I get up, and I run from my brief asylum, shooting at anything that moves. The mobile suit shoots at me, and misses me, but the aftershock sends me flying. I do not have the luxury of wallowing in pain however, and I gather myself up with the gun, and run once more.

_This is a holy war._

_You shall offer yourself to the almighty God._

_To carry out God's will, infidels must give way._

There is a doll on the floor. It may have once been beautiful, I do not know. Whatever it may have once been, it is now deformed and hideous to look at. That is what war does.

There is no god in this world. If there is a supernatural power, it is not a god. It does not deserve the name of god.

However, it looks as if the world disagrees, and through my experienced senses, I can feel the shells spiraling towards me. I fling myself down to the ground, and above me, the shells pierce the wall.

_This is a holy war._

_You shall offer yourself to the almighty God._

_To carry out God's will, infidels must give way._

There is no such thing as a god in this world. It is not anyone's fault but our own for believing in something that does not exist. But the fact that I have thrown everything away for something that is not real…the agony is indescribable.

And now, I am stranded in a wide open area. The sky is full and blistering; it is ready to take me. The mobile suit has seen me now, and painfully swings to my direction. I now know the answer to my question; I am not ready to die, for I have not ended this inescapable cycle called war. But I also know that the world does not care what I want, and has never cared. The mobile suit raises its rifle, and my eyes widen in anticipation of incoming death.

Instead, it explodes, and every other suit around it also collapses in a cloud of sparks.

When I raise my eyes and look at the heavens, I see my savior. Its wings are so vivid, so brilliant, it hurts my eyes to look at it. But I cannot turn away from it, and I reach upwards for it. Once I hold on, I will never let go.

For I am the truth.

* * *

End of cycle.


End file.
